Nocturnal Nargles
by pocki93
Summary: A mysterious Blaise/Luna one-shot with a cute little ending. JKR owns it allllll.


**A/N: Hello! I haven't written a one-shot in a while, but I find that writing a very long fanfic gets complicated and I need a dash of freshness. If you haven't yet, please check out my in-progress fanfic called Mirror, Mirror! It's a Dramione with a twist that hasn't happened yet, but I'm working on it, I promise.**

 **Also, check out my blog on Instagram at thenonfictionfoodie!**

The bell chimed in the little shop as the door swung open. A man, tall and dark, entered the store, a blizzard of snow encompassing him.

He made his way towards the back of the shop, his face was almost entirely covered with a green scarf. His hands were gloved in leather and his shoes shone expensively in the dim lighting.

He roamed the aisles, his eyes searching for something. He didn't seem to know what he was looking for, simply that he was looking for something.

The man had heard stories and rumors of the strange shop-keeper. The stories, although amusing, were unsettling.

He passed jars labeled with different, unheard of names. Some contained colored, jelly-like substances while others contained powdered, smoke-like air.

"Ahem", he heard, a tiny sound.

He turned to face the shop-keeper, his eyes widening in confusion.

'This is the shop-keeper?', he thought.

"How may I help you today?", the mystical tinkle asked, her blue-gray eyes boring into his own.

"I'm not quite certain", he replied.

"Come", she stated, holding onto his leather-gloved hand and leading him towards the back.

He followed out of pure shock and uncertainty. He wasn't quite sure what was occurring or what his actions were to be in the following moments, but he was certain he was supposed to follow her.

Blaise Zabini had a simple life. His family had remained neutral during the war and his distaste for muggle-borns was simply unreal. In all reality, he had a distaste for Potter and his little friends. He had lived in luxury. Although he was no pureblood prince, he was still a Zabini. Life after war had left him restless, confused, and uncertain of himself. He had become a wanderer. He had travelled the world, searching for an unknown treasure.

He had heard stories during his travels of a woman who owned a shop in Diagon Alley. Although it was a commonplace, not many were aware of the shop's location. It had been enchanted by unknown magic to only appear when the person searching was ready.

She led him to a small enclosure in the back of the shop. The room was darker than the main shop, but the woman's hair seemed to glow in the light of the stars that magically shone in.

She seated him on a cushion and sat herself across from him. He couldn't compel himself to say anything to the woman. She seemed to be studying him deeply; it almost felt as if she was reading his soul.

Suddenly, she stood and pulled a small jar from one of the shelves behind her. Blaise couldn't see what was within the glass jar, but she reached her dainty hand in and held it out to him.

He stretched out a hand with his palm open and she placed the object in it.

"What the hell is this, Lovegood?", he asked, jerking away. She had placed a small leather rope with a cork-like object in his palm. It seemed to be a necklace. He studied it while she continued to study him.

"It is what you need, Blaise", she answered, making herself comfortable on a first name basis. She had seen it in his emerald green eyes when he had stepped into her shop. He was her future, but not yet.

"Like hell I need a fucking corkscrew! You're bloody mad", he said, annoyed at his time wasted. He shoved the necklace into his pocket, threw some galleons onto the small table between them, and left the shop.

He drowned his frustrations at the witch in the Leaky Cauldron with rounds of Ogden's.

'What the bloody hell was I thinking going into a shop like that?', he growled inwardly, 'And who the bloody hell believes that bullshit she spews?'

He drunkenly overpaid for his evening and stumbled out into the cold, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. He apparated to the Zabini Manor and crashed onto his bed. Before he knew it, he was fully clothed and fast asleep.

The next morning, curious occurrences had begun. Firstly, Blaise was never awake before noon, but this morning was different. He had groaned and stumbled awake at six.

'Bloody fuck', he thought while gulping down a hangover potion, 'why the fuck am I awake before the sun?'

"Ten", he said aloud, "get me some breakfast."

The little elf disappeared and Blaise could hear the tinkling of fine china as Ten brought his breakfast to his room.

Secondly, as Blaise ate and dressed, he curiously couldn't get the witch off his mind. He had so many questions and he was going to get his answers.

He made his way back to Diagon Alley and began searching for the shop he had stepped into the night before. His first round around the shopping district was uneventful as he couldn't find its location. The second time around, he stepped into every shop to double check.

'What the fuck?', he thought. He couldn't seem to find the shop anywhere. He had searched every area of Diagon Alley. He had even risked his safety and stumbled into Knockturn Alley. There was no sight of the shop or the shop-keeper. The strange place hadn't even a name and something was preventing him from asking any persons of its existence.

'This is something entirely fucked up', he grumbled to himself on his way to the Leaky Cauldron, 'what in bloody hell is happening?'

Blaise seated him at a barstool, but kept his drinks to butterbeers. He knew he hadn't drank so much so as to forget his evening, but he didn't want to risk it being a possibility. He needed his wits.

Days passed and Blaise spent every single one of them searching for the shop's location. His efforts were fruitless, however, as the shop did not seem to be located in Diagon Alley any longer. He had tried multiple means to find the witch as well. He had gone as far as mistaking Draco's pale blonde for hers.

'Fuck!', he growled, angrily throwing his coat off. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed something hanging from the pocket and leant to grasp it. It was that wretched corkscrew necklace that Loony Lovegood had given him.

"It can't hurt, right?", he wondered aloud as he placed the necklace around his head. The corkscrew settled nicely on his dark chest.

He pulled himself to bed and reluctantly closed his eyes for sleep.

'One last time', he determined the next morning as he made his way to Diagon Alley in the late evening, 'I'll check one more time before I decide I had imagined the entire thing'.

He wandered the streets, up and down, searching for the shop. Eventually, he had stopped actually looking and just seemed to be aimlessly trying to find this witch.

That was the difference. The clouds finally parted as he managed to stumble into the shop he had been in almost a week prior. His eyes began searching for the blonde haired, blue eyed witch. She had to be real, he knew her.

He uselessly walked down the aisles, his patience running thin.

'Where is that woman?', he thought angrily. Just then, he felt soft fingers grasp onto his and he turned to the person in question.

"Hello, Blaise", she replied airily, "welcome back. How may I help you today?"

He didn't know what it was about her nonchalant greeting and her nonchalant question, but something was changed. Her eyes were like pale blue moons, gazing up at him. He brought his hand up to her cheek and placed it against her milky skin. The contrast of his dark and her light was stunning. His eyes shot to her lips. They were rosy red.

He couldn't restrain himself any longer. He leaned his head down and her eyes widened even more as his lips brushed hers.

He hadn't been searching for himself. He hadn't been searching for the shop. He hadn't been searching for a treasure. He had been searching for her. It had begun the day of the Second Wizarding War when he had seen her crouched on the stairs, her head resting against another, fragile as porcelain. She had had blood trickling down her face and her eyes had briefly made contact with his. Since that fateful day, it had been her.

"I see the nargles have disappeared", she smiled at him.

"Yes", he replied, "yes they have."


End file.
